Colonial Madness by Jo Whittemore Page A

point. “Now we add feathers.”
    â€œWith what?” I asked. “Glue?”
    She sawed three grooves along the sides of the opposite end, sliding the vein of a halved feather into each groove.
    â€œCool!” I said, admiring her handiwork when she finished the first one. “Where did you learn that?”
    Mom smirked. “I’m a dressmaker, sweetheart. My job is making pieces fit seamlessly.”
    She finished the second arrow, then the third, and cut a notch in the feathered end of each for the bowstring.
    â€œShall we test them out?” she asked.
    But before she’d even nocked the first arrow, Eli hollered for everyone to stop.
    â€œTime has run out!” he cried. “Grab your bows and arrows and follow me to the targets.” He pointed to the family still in the turkey enclosure. “Except you. Your time has run out for the contest as well.”
    The rest of us fell into step behind Eli, and while we walked, I stared at other people’s arrows. They all looked pretty crude, with Angel’s family’s looking crudest of all.
    Theirs didn’t have feathers; they had leaves.
    â€œUm . . .” I pointed at Angel’s arrow.
    â€œWe couldn’t do it,” she said.
    â€œHow would you like it if someone chased you around the yard and pulled out your hair?” asked Aunt Zoe.
    I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “You don’t think those leaves are going to crumble under the pressure?”
    â€œIt was either this or get disqualified,” said Uncle Deke.
    â€œEnough idle chatter,” said Eli. “You will surely startle your prey.” He gestured to some hay bales with bull’s-eyes painted on them.
    Dylan snickered.
    â€œAssemble a line and take your shots. The order matters not,” said Eli, ignoring him.
    And even though Mom and I were last in line, we placed first. Angel’s family came in dead last.
    â€œCongratulations,” Aunt Zoe told us as Mom shifted theweight of the food basket Eli had just handed her.
    â€œThanks,” we both said.
    â€œDo you want help carrying that?” I asked Mom. We were walking back to the manor. “It looks heavy.”
    â€œI think I can manage,” she said. “You weighed a little more as a baby, and I carried you just fine.”
    â€œGee, thanks,” I said drily. But I couldn’t be upset with our recent success. Just when I’d been starting to lose hope, Mom and I pulled it off.
    â€œI don’t think anyone expected us to do so well,” I told her. “Not even me.”
    â€œNever doubt your mother,” said Mom. “Who was the one who told you butter could get you unstuck from the heating duct?”
    â€œWho was the one who got me stuck there in the first place?” I countered.
    â€œWas it not the perfect hiding space for hide-and-seek?”
    I was silent for a moment. “It was.”
    Mom grinned and bumped me with her shoulder. “So what do you say we eat dinner and then play a game I invented?” She held up a finger. “I promise it’s not Yarn.”
    I smiled. “Actually, I have plans with Angel tonight. We’re going to do something with that watermelon.”
    Mom nodded. “Okay, that sounds like fun.”
    After dinner, I snuck into the bathroom and slathered the vinegar and mint under my arms, even rubbing some into the fabric of my dress. I said good-bye to Mom and sprinted down the hall before she could see that I wasn’t stopping at Angel’s room.
    Once I was sure the coast was clear, I crept from shadow to shadow down to the craft hut. Caleb opened the door before I even knocked. And he didn’t look happy to see me.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” I asked.
    â€œMy dad said it’s against the rules for any of the contestants to hang out with us.” He frowned and dropped his shoulders.
    â€œI know,” I said. “But . . . I still